


sink with the tide

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [40]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Betrayal, Break Up, Divorce, Drunken Shenanigans, Extramarital Affairs, Friends to Lovers, Infidelity, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9247592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: He gets home from work to find Gwen sitting on the sofa, phone in hand, her eyes fixed blankly on the coffee table, and when she lifts her watery gaze to his he knows it’s going to be bad.Prequel tohonest goodbyes (only work once or twice).





	

Later, Arthur thinks maybe it’s been coming for a while, a slow but inevitable breakdown, but it’s his father’s death that finally sends the house of cards crumbling. He gets home from work to find Gwen sitting on the sofa, phone in hand, her eyes fixed blankly on the coffee table, and when she lifts her watery gaze to his he knows it’s going to be bad.

 

“Arthur, I’m so sorry,” she says, and Arthur thinks first of Morgana, and then — 

 

“My father?”

 

She nods. “A heart attack,” she says, hand over her mouth like she’s trying to smother the words even as she speaks them. “In his sleep, they said. It was quick.”

 

Arthur doesn’t say anything. He shrugs out of his coat, hangs it up, unbuttons his jacket and loosens his tie — the motions come easily, even now, with the familiarity of muscle memory. Gwen is still watching him, and he wishes she wouldn’t. He has no idea how he’s supposed to react, how he’s supposed to feel about being suddenly an orphan, but he thinks maybe it would be easier without her eyes on him. He knows she’s waiting for a sign so that she can comfort him, but all he can think is that it’s not her he wants to talk to; not about this. 

 

“I need a drink,” he says brusquely, stalking into the kitchen. Gwen doesn’t follow him, and he feels guilty for being relieved.

 

 

 

 

The funeral is a lavish affair, as per his father’s request, although fortunately Morgana’s good taste prevents it from being too ostentatious. She studies Arthur carefully when he and Gwen arrive, but whatever she sees in his face she doesn’t comment on it, just kisses the air beside each of their cheeks and beckons them both inside. 

 

When the first handful of earth lands on his father’s casket, Arthur hears in the patter of dirt against wood the sound of something breaking, and feels abruptly sick. Gwen tucks her hand inside his and squeezes, and he holds onto her like a lifeline. She hadn’t really known his father, and as far as Arthur knows she hadn’t liked him very much, but when he turns to look at her she’s crying anyway, huge silent tears rolling down her cheeks, her dark curls fluttering in the slight breeze, and it gives him something to focus on. He’s always been better at dealing with other peoples’ emotions instead of his own.

 

 

 

 

Arthur has been preparing for the role of his father’s heir for his whole life, from the moment he was born through to the university he attended and the woman he married. After Uther’s death, there are parts of the process that come easily to him: organising the accounts, dealing with Uther’s will and other legal issues, sorting through his father’s things. There are other parts he has no idea how to cope with. 

 

“But I thought Agravaine would take over,” Arthur blurts, staring at Geoffrey Monmouth in horror. “Father said there would be a transition period — that I’d have to work my way up.”

 

“Be that as it may, you are now the majority shareholder,” Geoffrey tells him, calm and implacable. “Your father has been grooming you to run Camelot Holdings since you were a child, and your performance since you started working with us has been exemplary. The job is yours, if you want it.” 

 

 _I don’t want it_ , Arthur thinks, but he knows better than to say so. He is still his father’s son. “I’ll have to think about it,” he says, and Geoffrey nods like he’d expected nothing less.

 

 

 

 

That night, when Gwen turns to him in bed and kisses him, Arthur pulls away — gentle, but firm. She doesn’t protest.

 

“It’s over, isn’t it?” 

 

“I think so.”

 

He expects her to get angry, perhaps even ask him why, but she doesn’t. “Are you — is this because of me?”

 

Arthur turns towards her, startled. “What? No, Gwen. Of course not."

 

“It’s just,” she says. “It always seemed like you weren’t sure, even when we were dating. When you asked me to marry you, I decided I was being paranoid, but then after the wedding sometimes you’d get this look on your face, like…” She trails off, blinking. “I always thought — he chose me. He chose _me_. But you never really did, did you?”

 

Arthur takes a deep breath. “I slept with Merlin,” he admits quietly. “The night before our wedding. It wasn’t — something I’d planned, or even thought about before then, really, it just sort of — happened.”

 

She stiffens beside him, and he knows he’s hurt her. 

 

“We were drunk,” he adds quickly. “It didn’t mean anything, we just — ”

 

“Don’t.” Her lips press together, and he can see her eyes flash even in the dark. “It only makes it worse when you lie.”

 

 

 

 

They don’t fight; not exactly. Gwen has never liked scenes and Arthur was brought up never to raise his voice to a lady — Morgana excepted — but there’s no doubt she won’t forgive him. Arthur doesn’t really expect a second chance. Uther’s death acts on them both like the lancing of a boil, releasing the poison that has been festering underneath their seemingly perfect life for so long, and maybe it’s stupid but in spite of the guilt he’d rather have her hate him for the truth than continue loving a lie. He dresses, picks up his phone and calls for a cab. She’s still sitting there with the duvet clutched over her chest when it arrives, her cheeks wet.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

 

She shakes her head. “I know what your father was,” she says. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to say I understand. But not right now.”

 

He nods. It’s better than he deserves. “I hope so.”

 

She watches him leave, her robe pulled close about her body, looking tired and small in the window as he shuts the taxi door. “The station, please,” he says, and the driver complies.


End file.
